I took my first Turkish holiday this weekend in Cappadocia, an ancient land situated in the center of the country. I booked the trip through my school, and therefore I just assumed everything was going to work out. By this point, my hardcore group of precocious new teachers had dwindled from five to two. We had few options, a tight budget, and we really wanted to get sushi at the mall where the travel agency was (it’s had to find around here). I was in no mood to renegotiate what was supposed to be an exotic vacation.

With every new destination traveled comes a new set of procedures to decipher. At 9:30 p.m. I embarked down my gravel street wheeling my little suitcase. I managed to get the first bus to the second bus, hop a cab and arrive in a deserted parking lot where we were to meet our bus. It looked sketchy, but I relinquished my fate to the gods of.

Luckily, the bus was no greyhound. Plush reclining seats and an attendant who came around to periodically pass around beverages made the ride semi-bearable. It was already midnight, and by sunrise we’d be in Cappadocia .

We stopped nearly every two hours for a break so passengers could use the bathroom, get something to eat, and of course, smoke. (Our bus was one of the few places in Turkey I’ve found that has a no smoking sign that is actually enforced.
Nine sleepless hours later, I saw the other-worldly “fairy chimneys” emerge in the distance. The sensible thing to do would be to go to the hotel, take a shower and pass a few hours at the pool, and then head out for an afternoon of touring once the sun had time to simmer. Instead, we went straight to the first site and started what at times felt like a trek through the Sahara towards a mirage of satisfaction and fulfillment.

First stop: Ancient underground cities that formed a labyrinth beneath the entire region. It was really quite amazing to imagine what it must’ve been like to live burrowed under the Earth like creatures from Lord of the Rings. Unfortunately, I started thinking. First, it was innocent enough. I though of super Mario going down the tube into a creepy underworld. I then had flashbacks to the part in Indiana Jones where the walls are closing in on him. This is what those coal miners in Utah must have felt like. If underground cities were build to hide from enemy forces, maybe there’s bad karama down here. We then went even further into the bowels of the Earth, which required walking down a slanted tunnel with my back at nearly a right angle. I had had enough, and it wasn’t even lunchtime. If the prune lady in front of me wearing orthopedic shoes can do it, then so can I, I reassured myself.

We went from room to room, each with arched doorways. They all looked identical to one another, save for the signs identifying the bedroom from the church. I’m sure there were distinguishing factors, but with the tour all in Turkish, I couldn’t tell you want they are. I thought it could be a clandestine labyrinth.
Luckily, we made friends with a man who spoke English, an engineering professor at Bosphorus University. He semi-translated for us, which, perhaps, he thought meant he could then put his hands on our backs as we walked single file and crouched over through the tunnels. (he took turns between my friends and I) .
We went to lunch in what looked like something out of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, or maybe a bad Aladdin sequel. The waiters were clad in blue vests with gold fringed tassels and pointy shows. Our self-appointed translator “friend” sat with us. “You teach me English, I will teach you Turkish.” As if I haven’t heard that one before. It was then that my friend and I became engrossed in a conversation about her boyfriend and my imaginary one.

At this point, I found myself contemplating an important conundrum: Why is this supposed to be fun? Yes, the natural landscapes were some of the most visually stunning I’ve ever seen, but a scenic point is only scenic for so long before your vision begin to blur.

I learned a few important lessons that day. First, don’t be kind to strangers. Second, no matter where you go, even the bowels of the Earth, you will find large groups of Asian tourists wearing wide brimmed hats and knee socks. Third, a day visiting historical sites should be sandwiched between two days at the pool sipping Margaritas.

We were supposed to wake up for round two the next day, but thankfully my friend is not as bound by guilt as I am and made an executive decision to stay at the hotel for the day. I felt slightly naughty about missing out on the day’s adventures. However, from a cost-benefit analysis, it really made the most sense. Stay poolside , get in some important classroom prep time, and reserve my bolster my mental resources for the school year ahead. After all, we are professionals. With nothing better to do than read, flirt with under aged waiters and take glamour shots at the pool, I felt fully satisfied. It could’ve been the French Rivera rather than The Boonies, Turkey. Even if we ended up with faux French fries and bottles of Effes (the national beer), it was still what I call a vacation.